(Backdated post: 1-5 August 2015, published 29 September 2015)

Snippets from the many pieces of pen-and-paper free writing done in Cambodia, Siam Reap, during my RCX trip. Some Most of it does not make much sense, but heck, for posterity! 

1st Aug:
You know those moments you get where it feels like life is a perfect blur of joy and inexplicable happiness? The world spins with bursts of sparkles, reminiscent to a kaleidoscope of rainbows. I feel like everything does happen for a reason. And I am (exactly) where I’m meant to be. Leaving for my RCX trip in a few hours – awaiting the unfolding of more amazing memories! : ) – 6:22AM

Visiting a place you’ve been to before for a second, third, forth time is a strange thing: you are a stranger returning to a place that does not belong to you, where you do not belong. A part of me feels the odd sense of displacement of this phenomenon; this city feels neither familiar nor foreign. It makes me question the idea of identity and belonging. Nonetheless, coming to an un-new locale with a more positive attitude indeed offers me a fresh look through more attractive lenses. – 5:25PM

2nd Aug:
Amidst the rigidity of porous brick-rocks and age old tree trunks, the sand and sun through leaves – the merging of grace and strength. Silk thin wings of colours reflect light, filtered through is nature’s beauty, the flight of effortless charm. The flutter of lithe bodies that dance with ferocity against the rich bareness of heritage infused in rock, in stone.

The butterflies – yellow, turquoise, white – are the transient dancers of the air. Human eyes dart at the untraced routes of their ventures. They remind of music and magic manifested – the gorgeous incarnation of evolutionary success.

Did the butterflies dance the same when these rocks first landed? For the passing of time transcends the simple movements of colours in flight. – 9:20AM

I feel the guilt of an unintentional intruder entering the sacred grounds of yesteryears – uninvited. There is something formidable about the stone walls that surround; seemingly a repeated reminder of my intrusive state. To keep in or to keep out? My heart longs for the affinity to perceive the world from within a timeless place. Simultaneously, my heart swells (swoons) with the infatuation for the glorious relationship between uncontained nature and brick hard mortar. The consumption of two polar beauties; the splendid explosive chemistry of tangible romance. – 9:30AM

“I feel the guilt of an unintentional intruder entering the sacred grounds of yesteryears – uninvited. My heart longs for the affinity to perceive the world from within, from a timeless place. Simultaneously, my heart swells, swoons, with the wonderment towards the gloriously contentious relationship between unyielding heritage and relentless progress. Having the opportunity to re-acquaint myself with Cambodia on the precedence of its beauty and culture – as opposed to its woeful history and troubling predicaments – has been heartening and transformative.” – RCX Reflections, reproduced with intent for greater coherence.

Root, bark, branch, tree. The study, unchanging nature of the tree perched upon the roof of Ta Prohm temple catches my eye.

Root, bark, branch, tree. The deep-plunging roots hold firmly to aged-stone, splicing the moss-lined surface with much precision, definition. Intertwined, the strength of the natural realm convenes with the un-changeability of (seemingly) manmade presence.

Root, bark, branch, tree. The bark of the tree, roughened with the passage of time and the situational adversities of weather/climate, seems to shroud the soft magical glow within. Exterior, interior – the winding trunk snakes around invisible support structures, guided by imaginary vines of divine intervention. Nuanced movements of nature’s command.

Root, bark, branch, tree. The branches creep upwards, skywards, reaching for the wide expansive clear of crystal skies (does it know what it is reaching for?) Semi-bare, does a brunch still worthy its existence when it has loss all its leaves?

Root, bark, branch, tree. “The temple will stand fine if the tree is cut down, but the tree is finished once the temple is destroyed.” The tree stands tall, somewhat wavering with its structural twists and turns through architectural construction; nonetheless, inherently sturdy, unchanging.

The proverbial tree of culture/heritage stands among those in Angkor – sturdy, unchanging. Root, bark, branch tree. Looking on, I stop myself from questioning the inexplicable awe of this opulent beauty.

(We were instructed to write a letter to a friend today; I thought of the trees of love I had built upon my shaky emotional sanctuaries. I did not send the letter I wrote; I sent the above passage to myself instead.) – 5.45PM [postcard written on 5th Aug, morning]

Desperately seeking emotional asylum in nature. Childhood detestation for all things green and lush gives way to hasty lust for this mythical enigmatic nectar. Possibly stems from the crazed yearning for the vaguest sense of internal calm – fuck this incoherence. – 10:30PM

3rd Aug:
Human connections remain an elusive phenomenon I repeatedly struggle to wrap my head around. More specifically, the manner in which they are formed and broken, formed and broken, formed and broken. So seamlessly, unnoticeably. At times I question the possibility of human relationships mirroring Newtonian laws of energy conservation: affections merely transferred from one body to the next; never created, never destroyed, simply transferred. Perhaps this seems a little absurd when applied to the interconnectivity of kindred/destined spirits. (I digress.)

The past week has been extensively populated with events that both challenge and reinforce every notion I had towards the fundamental concept of interpersonal occurrences. Life has thrown me, ragged me, embraced me, in a million ways, only to leave me more confused than ever, yet more contented than I have ever been.

I am more than ever befuzzled by the enigma that is the way two beings approach each other in a variation of scenarios.

More than anything, I have discovered the immense love and detestation I have for people – I either love them or hate them, as a certain variation of a Plath quote dictates. Part of me forcefully desires the knowledge to unravel this enigma, yet at the same time, I fear the subpar answer I would obtain lest I know the truth to this mystery.

While it is massively conflicting, I feel joyous hope towards this contending emotions. 

Life has been kind. – no time stamp

4th Aug:
Root, bark, branch, tree. I am standing atop a barren hill, sun beating against my back, grass charred from scorch of the raving heat. A lone tree stands, too, atop this barren hill – raw, contoured, defined. There is a sense of mysticism prescribed to it despite its abandoned state; perhaps due to its abandoned state.

The tree looks on into the distance, tall and firm in its stance. I run fingers over faded, semi-smooth bark. The satisfying texture of triumph over external resistivity.

I am lying beneath this tree; the straw-like grass prickling my neck and bristling the back of my thighs. Sunlight filters through the branches and its sparse leaves. The sky blue and promising, beyond. My eye lids flutter, closing.

There is a placid calm that overcomes me, as though my soul was effectively drawing positive energy from the awe-inspiringly evocative surroundings.

Sudden affinity with trees establishes a particularly intimate relationship between being and nature. The universality and startlingly homogenous state (fundamentally) of trees once again reinforces the anti-magnitude of the world.

A tree is a tree is a tree – aren’t we all one and all the same? – 8:30AM

In recent days, I find myself deliberating the possibility of being a citizen to the world whilst remaining grounded in traditional, geographically-specific beliefs. Admittedly, the lines between both global and local locales are perpetually being blurred, especially in the age of extreme progress.

What is home? Where is home?

It is perplexing to discover how urgently I wish to find an answer to this question. I have grown to feel increasingly desperate to define my place of belonging in this world. The endless slew of existential worries plagues me and I wonder if travel/exploration is truly the reliable solution.

A sign in the public hotel restrooms implores visitors to “check their belonging (sic) before leaving”. This slight grammatical slip unintentionally resurfaced the concept of ‘belonging’ in me. Are we to only question our belonging to a place when we are departing? Or only when we are far away?

Still endlessly plundering for a space of true belonging but with each passing day of hope and every joyous instance, I am repeatedly reaffirmed of the plausibility of unearthing this rare connection. – 6:45PM

5th Aug:
(Moving 5th Aug entries to new self-contained posts)

(Backdated post: 1-5 August 2015, published 29 September 2015)

Snippets from the many pieces of pen-and-paper free writing done in Cambodia, Siam Reap, during my RCX trip. Some Most of it does not make much sense, but heck, for posterity! 

1st Aug:
You know those moments you get where it feels like life is a perfect blur of joy and inexplicable happiness? The world spins with bursts of sparkles, reminiscent to a kaleidoscope of rainbows. I feel like everything does happen for a reason. And I am (exactly) where I’m meant to be. Leaving for my RCX trip in a few hours – awaiting the unfolding of more amazing memories! : ) – 6:22AM

Visiting a place you’ve been to before for a second, third, forth time is a strange thing: you are a stranger returning to a place that does not belong to you, where you do not belong. A part of me feels the odd sense of displacement of this phenomenon; this city feels neither familiar nor foreign. It makes me question the idea of identity and belonging. Nonetheless, coming to an un-new locale with a more positive attitude indeed offers me a fresh look through more attractive lenses. – 5:25PM

2nd Aug:
Amidst the rigidity of porous brick-rocks and age old tree trunks, the sand and sun through leaves – the merging of grace and strength. Silk thin wings of colours reflect light, filtered through is nature’s beauty, the flight of effortless charm. The flutter of lithe bodies that dance with ferocity against the rich bareness of heritage infused in rock, in stone.

The butterflies – yellow, turquoise, white – are the transient dancers of the air. Human eyes dart at the untraced routes of their ventures. They remind of music and magic manifested – the gorgeous incarnation of evolutionary success.

Did the butterflies dance the same when these rocks first landed? For the passing of time transcends the simple movements of colours in flight. – 9:20AM

I feel the guilt of an unintentional intruder entering the sacred grounds of yesteryears – uninvited. There is something formidable about the stone walls that surround; seemingly a repeated reminder of my intrusive state. To keep in or to keep out? My heart longs for the affinity to perceive the world from within a timeless place. Simultaneously, my heart swells (swoons) with the infatuation for the glorious relationship between uncontained nature and brick hard mortar. The consumption of two polar beauties; the splendid explosive chemistry of tangible romance. – 9:30AM

“I feel the guilt of an unintentional intruder entering the sacred grounds of yesteryears – uninvited. My heart longs for the affinity to perceive the world from within, from a timeless place. Simultaneously, my heart swells, swoons, with the wonderment towards the gloriously contentious relationship between unyielding heritage and relentless progress. Having the opportunity to re-acquaint myself with Cambodia on the precedence of its beauty and culture – as opposed to its woeful history and troubling predicaments – has been heartening and transformative.” – RCX Reflections, reproduced with intent for greater coherence.

Root, bark, branch, tree. The study, unchanging nature of the tree perched upon the roof of Ta Prohm temple catches my eye.

Root, bark, branch, tree. The deep-plunging roots hold firmly to aged-stone, splicing the moss-lined surface with much precision, definition. Intertwined, the strength of the natural realm convenes with the un-changeability of (seemingly) manmade presence.

Root, bark, branch, tree. The bark of the tree, roughened with the passage of time and the situational adversities of weather/climate, seems to shroud the soft magical glow within. Exterior, interior – the winding trunk snakes around invisible support structures, guided by imaginary vines of divine intervention. Nuanced movements of nature’s command.

Root, bark, branch, tree. The branches creep upwards, skywards, reaching for the wide expansive clear of crystal skies (does it know what it is reaching for?) Semi-bare, does a brunch still worthy its existence when it has loss all its leaves?

Root, bark, branch, tree. “The temple will stand fine if the tree is cut down, but the tree is finished once the temple is destroyed.” The tree stands tall, somewhat wavering with its structural twists and turns through architectural construction; nonetheless, inherently sturdy, unchanging.

The proverbial tree of culture/heritage stands among those in Angkor – sturdy, unchanging. Root, bark, branch tree. Looking on, I stop myself from questioning the inexplicable awe of this opulent beauty.

(We were instructed to write a letter to a friend today; I thought of the trees of love I had built upon my shaky emotional sanctuaries. I did not send the letter I wrote; I sent the above passage to myself instead.) – 5.45PM [postcard written on 5th Aug, morning]

Desperately seeking emotional asylum in nature. Childhood detestation for all things green and lush gives way to hasty lust for this mythical enigmatic nectar. Possibly stems from the crazed yearning for the vaguest sense of internal calm – fuck this incoherence. – 10:30PM

3rd Aug:
Human connections remain an elusive phenomenon I repeatedly struggle to wrap my head around. More specifically, the manner in which they are formed and broken, formed and broken, formed and broken. So seamlessly, unnoticeably. At times I question the possibility of human relationships mirroring Newtonian laws of energy conservation: affections merely transferred from one body to the next; never created, never destroyed, simply transferred. Perhaps this seems a little absurd when applied to the interconnectivity of kindred/destined spirits. (I digress.)

The past week has been extensively populated with events that both challenge and reinforce every notion I had towards the fundamental concept of interpersonal occurrences. Life has thrown me, ragged me, embraced me, in a million ways, only to leave me more confused than ever, yet more contented than I have ever been.

I am more than ever befuzzled by the enigma that is the way two beings approach each other in a variation of scenarios.

More than anything, I have discovered the immense love and detestation I have for people – I either love them or hate them, as a certain variation of a Plath quote dictates. Part of me forcefully desires the knowledge to unravel this enigma, yet at the same time, I fear the subpar answer I would obtain lest I know the truth to this mystery.

While it is massively conflicting, I feel joyous hope towards this contending emotions. 

Life has been kind. – no time stamp

4th Aug:
Root, bark, branch, tree. I am standing atop a barren hill, sun beating against my back, grass charred from scorch of the raving heat. A lone tree stands, too, atop this barren hill – raw, contoured, defined. There is a sense of mysticism prescribed to it despite its abandoned state; perhaps due to its abandoned state.

The tree looks on into the distance, tall and firm in its stance. I run fingers over faded, semi-smooth bark. The satisfying texture of triumph over external resistivity.

I am lying beneath this tree; the straw-like grass prickling my neck and bristling the back of my thighs. Sunlight filters through the branches and its sparse leaves. The sky blue and promising, beyond. My eye lids flutter, closing.

There is a placid calm that overcomes me, as though my soul was effectively drawing positive energy from the awe-inspiringly evocative surroundings.

Sudden affinity with trees establishes a particularly intimate relationship between being and nature. The universality and startlingly homogenous state (fundamentally) of trees once again reinforces the anti-magnitude of the world.

A tree is a tree is a tree – aren’t we all one and all the same? – 8:30AM

In recent days, I find myself deliberating the possibility of being a citizen to the world whilst remaining grounded in traditional, geographically-specific beliefs. Admittedly, the lines between both global and local locales are perpetually being blurred, especially in the age of extreme progress.

What is home? Where is home?

It is perplexing to discover how urgently I wish to find an answer to this question. I have grown to feel increasingly desperate to define my place of belonging in this world. The endless slew of existential worries plagues me and I wonder if travel/exploration is truly the reliable solution.

A sign in the public hotel restrooms implores visitors to “check their belonging (sic) before leaving”. This slight grammatical slip unintentionally resurfaced the concept of ‘belonging’ in me. Are we to only question our belonging to a place when we are departing? Or only when we are far away?

Still endlessly plundering for a space of true belonging but with each passing day of hope and every joyous instance, I am repeatedly reaffirmed of the plausibility of unearthing this rare connection. – 6:45PM

5th Aug:
(Moving 5th Aug entries to new self-contained posts)